


extra credit

by thenerdlordparade



Category: X-Ray & Vav (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, M/M, and it's been literal Y E A R S, even just THINKING about mk's part in that gives me shivers, gender neutral reader, hi im still not over season 2 episode 5, i also don't really like using 'y/n' in stuff but, i couldn't really avoid it in one specific spot so i hope it doesn't pull you out too badly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdlordparade/pseuds/thenerdlordparade
Summary: you're a college student failing one of your last classes, desperately looking for some extra credit.well. you definitely found some.
Relationships: The Mad King (X-Ray & Vav)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	extra credit

**Author's Note:**

> so ok. just gonna preface this.
> 
> i started writing this in april 2017.  
> i wrote the last five paragraphs last fucking night.
> 
> and this is just chapter one.
> 
> i really really REALLY hate to be That Guy that posts an unfinished readerfic that doesn't even get to the good stuff, but. it's been over three years, and i actually really do like how this turned out. so... enjoy the premise, at least?

This was a bad idea. 

This was a really bad idea. 

This was a  _ very _ \- no, scratch that, this was a  _ monumentally _ bad idea. 

And yet. 

You were failing your psychology class by- well. You didn't want to put a number to it. It was a by  _ lot _ and you would really prefer to leave it at that. The psych professor that taught your class had a well-earned reputation for being an absolute hard-ass too. There was no mercy: you either passed or you shelled out to retake the class. The thing was, you did fine in all of your other classes  _ except _ the psych class, and you were  _ so close _ to graduating!

So close, and so very, very broke. Too broke to afford the tuition to take the psych class again. 

You had begged the professor to let you do extra work to boost your grade. An extra report, multiple reports, TA work,  _ something _ . 

They'd laughed and slammed their office door in your face. 

You weren't to be deterred though. Lack of money and a goal so close to completion were pretty substantial motivators, after all. 

You eventually ended up annoying the professor into telling you that if you could write a detailed psych evaluation on a live subject exhibiting multiple or complex unique psychological conditions, they would give you some amount of extra credit based on the length and detail of the report. Something gave you the feeling that they weren't even serious about the offer, that they'd just pulled some ridiculous bullshit out of their ass never thinking you'd be able to do it, but you'd take it. 

It was better than nothing, after all. 

After a week of searching, you were a lot less sure about the whole thing. Achievement City didn't exactly have an abundance of mental facilities - they only had the one, actually - and the inpatients didn't have the sort of complexity you were sure your professor was looking for. 

Except for  _ one _ . 

His file didn't even have a real name for him, but the name that  _ was _ listed was more than enough for you to remember him and what he'd done. You shivered just thinking about it. Sure, it had technically been the Corpirate that had turned the entire city, yourself included, into a shuffling, dead-eyed mass of pirate-themed zombies, but that wouldn't have been possible without the machine that  _ he _ built. 

The Mad King. 

After his initial expulsion from Monarch Labs and the mind-control debacle with the Corpirate, more and more of the Mad King's dirty little secrets came to light. The amplification machine that he'd built was merely the most recent thing he'd done; digging deeper into Monarch Labs revealed all sorts of terrible, awful, downright  _ insane _ things about him. As clumsy as the city's heroes were, you were thankful that X-Ray and Vav's efforts had put the Mad King safely behind bars. 

Going to conduct not just one, but what was likely going to be  _ several _ interviews with him for your report was sure to be a very bad idea- a potentially fatal one, even, if some of the stories about him were to be believed. 

But then again, if you survived and you put the effort in to write a polished analysis of him, you were sure you'd get enough extra credit to scrape a passing grade. The professor couldn't be  _ that _ much of a dick, to give you only a pittance of extra points for risking your life. If you died, well... 

If you died, you wouldn't have to worry about passing your class, at least. 

\---

As much as you hated making phone calls, you decided to phone the institution where he was being held to make an appointment to speak with the person in charge there. Warden? Doctor? You weren't honestly sure who exactly was in charge or what their title was, but you figured it'd probably be better to talk to them in person about what you needed to do rather than try to get permission to see  _ him _ over the phone. 

Predictably, the severe looking woman you sat down with a couple days later didn't believe you when you first explained what you needed to do. Still, to her credit it didn't take long for her to figure out that you were serious. "You  _ willingly _ want to go in there and ask him questions?" 

You nodded emphatically. " _ Please _ . It's my only hope of passing this class and graduating."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "There's no guarantee that he will even give you straight answers."

"That's okay. Even lies can give enough insight into what's going on in his head that I can spin it into a report."

The woman looked you over again, eyes steely, mouth pulling into a thin line. "This goes against my better judgment, but you seem to have a good head on your shoulders."

You straightened in the stiff chair, hoping, hoping,  _ hoping _ . 

"You may conduct your interviews,  _ but _ ," she said firmly, cutting off the wide smile that had started to spread, unbidden, on your face, "you have to play by  _ my _ rules."

You nodded again, fidgeting only a little. You were fairly sure her rules would be pretty straightforward. 

"Do not approach the cell, do not take anything from the patient, and most of all, if he asks you a question,  _ do not answer _ ." The vehemence of her last words made you blink; she continued. "He is a master of psychological coercion, something you  _ should _ be familiar with from your studies. No matter how innocent the question may seem to be, he  _ will _ use it to get inside your head. And trust me, you  _ don't _ want this guy in your head."

You swallowed nervously, but agreed. As expected, the rules were simple, if a bit nerve-wracking. From your research, you already knew that the Mad King was pretty fucked up; hearing that he would take and twist any information you gave to him to his own purposes - whether it was intentional on your part or not - wasn't surprising. Scary as hell, yes, but not surprising. "When is the best time to set up my interviews?" 

"How soon did you want to start?"

You scratched your neck awkwardly. "No sooner than in a day or two." The ' _ psychological coercion' _ that she had mentioned had put you on edge. You wanted to be sure to brush up on the notes you had from class for it and try to figure out at least a basic plan for dealing with him before jumping right into this. Desperate though you may have been, you weren't  _ that _ stupid. 

"And how often do you want to meet with the patient?" She opened up what looked like a desk planner, tapping the end of her pen on the page. 

"Uh..." You deliberated another moment. A project like this was going to take  _ time _ , time to gather all the information, time to organize it, and time to compile it into something coherent. All that time required, but the end of the semester wasn't far off, which worried you. "No more than once per day, but more frequent appointments would be better."

The other woman nodded approvingly. "I wouldn't allow anything more than that regardless. Pick what times work best for you," she said, offering a rare smile. "Unsurprisingly, he doesn't get a lot of visitors so there's plenty of time to work with."

You shared a quiet laugh with her, then set up your schedule of meetings. Working around your class times, you had arranged to meet with the Mad King almost every day, starting three days from then. 

You were definitely going to spend a good portion of your free time on those three days figuring out how the fuck to keep him from playing his usual mind games with you. There were some vague ideas floating around your head about handling him like a particularly conniving internet troll, but nothing had solidified yet. Besides, you had a feeling that no matter how much you planned, you were going to have to rework everything after meeting him anyway. 

You also still had the very distinct feeling that you were  _ fucked _ . 

Oh well. 

Too late to back out now. 

=====

"Mad King."

Silence.

"Hey. I'm talkin' ta  _ you _ , jackass." The sharp crack of a security baton against the wall drew his eyes to the guard. He regarded him with undisguised contempt. 

"Strong words for someone who isn't even brave enough to insult me to my face."

The guard shuffled slightly, adding another inch to the good ten feet between him and the glass cell wall. "Say what you want, but I ain't gettin' close enough for you to off me like you did the others."

The Mad King resisted the urge to roll his eyes and simply fixed his gaze to the floor again. If the guard was merely intent on annoying him, he didn't feel the need to listen. He'd go away eventually. 

" _ Hey _ ." The guard, for some unfathomable reason, was still there. "I got something to tell you. I didn't come back here just for shits 'n giggles, ya know." He paused, waiting for some indication that the Mad King was listening; all he got was a slight turn of the head towards him, imperceptible enough he wasn't even sure he saw it. "You got a visitor."

_ A visitor? _

_ That _ was news of a different sort; the Mad King lifted his head, turning it towards the guard. "Go on."

"They're a real nice type'a folk here to talk to you for a bit, so you better make sure you're on your best not-fucked-up behaviour. The director won't hesitate to extend how long you've lost newspaper privileges if anything weird happens." The guard gave him what he supposed was meant to be a hard look. It was difficult to take him seriously when it was so obvious he was terrified of him. 

He stood, turning towards the guard - ignoring his flinch and the way one foot slid back ready to run - and made a sarcastic salute and half bow. "I  _ promise _ I will be perfectly normal, Scout's Honour," he said, laying on the faux sincerity thick. It was obviously the only way to get it through the guard's dense skull. 

The guard squinted, suspicious. "I bet you ain't ever even been in Scouts."

"Oh yes, because clearly, you're the expert here."

"Fuck off." The guard scowled. "I don't gotta put up with your lip, Mad King."

"Don't you?" He tilted his head, a sardonic smile on his face. "Doesn't the very definition of your job position include, and I quote, 'putting up with my lip' as part of guarding me?" He clasped his hands behind his back. "What's the harm? I can't actually  _ do _ anything to you from in here." 

"Fuck  _ off _ ," the guard repeated, looking distinctly unsettled now. "Fuck off with your creepy mind games already. I'm gonna go get [Y/N]-  _ shit _ , I mean-" The guard shut his mouth with a snap, but it was too late to recall the name; it was a small, but  _ tantalizing _ bit of information. The Mad King only allowed his interest to show in a raised eyebrow and a slight, intrigued smile. The guard, flustered, barreled on. "You didn't hear nothin'. Anyways, you better clean up your act while I go get 'em."

"I'll be waiting." A part of him delighted in the way the guard's step quickened at his sing song tone. Simple minded buffoons like him were  _ so _ easy to manipulate and frighten; it was  _ too _ easy, really, but it wasn't like he had much else to do while stuck in here. Best to take his enjoyment where he could. 

Speaking of enjoyment... 

" _ Hello, [Y/N] _ ."

You stopped short in the doorway, narrowing your eyes at the Mad King. "How do you know my name, Mad King?" 

"How indeed." He watched the corners of your eyes narrow a tiny fraction more, watched your fingers twitch on the spiral bound notebook you carried, then-

"Ah." A flash of inspiration sparked in your eyes. "The guard told you."

_ Finally, a challenge _ . His unspoken test had been passed; you were, at the very least, smarter than the guards or those dolts X-Ray and Vav. It was clear to him that you were nervous - all the signs were there, from the twitches of your fingers to the way you wouldn't quite meet his eyes for longer than a second or two - but, he was pleased to note, you concealed it well. 

You took a few steps further into the blank hall leading up to his cell. "I was going to introduce myself, but I guess that's not necessary now."

"You know my name, I know yours. That makes us even."

"I know your  _ title _ ," you corrected, mouth tightening slightly at the corners. "No one seems to know your real name. I can't even find any  _ record _ of it- even from when you were CEO of Monarch Labs, which is weird. I don't suppose you'd tell me what it is?"

He gave a lazy smile. "'Mad King' suits my purposes quite well, I've found."

You sighed. "Yeah, didn't think you'd bite on that one."

There was a moment of silence. He continued to watch you; you took another step closer, fidgeted a bit, took another step. You were about five feet away from the glass now- closer than anyone had been for some time. 

Your reticence as you approached, however, was starting to bore him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked, voice smooth. Knowing the director, he was sure you had been warned against answering his questions, but he could always try. It was easiest to start with the innocuous ones anyway- you likely would have told him the answer to this one regardless. 

The slight jump you gave as reaction to his question confirmed his suspicions, but you regained your composure quickly. "I'm here to talk to you," you said. He pointedly slid his eyes down to the notebook you held; quickly, you added, "And take some notes. Just a little extra credit project, no big deal."

The Mad King shifted his stance, unclasping his hands from behind him to fold his arms. "I believe the term for taking notes while talking to someone is an  _ interview _ ," he said dryly, one eyebrow lifting and his mouth quirking up. 

"If you want to put it that way, then yeah, I guess." You shrugged loosely. "I was hoping for this to be fairly relaxed." Casting your eyes around the hall for a chair and finding none, you sat cross-legged on the concrete floor instead, pulling a pen from the spiral of your notebook. 

"And if I refuse?"

He meant it as more of a rhetorical question than anything else, but you still answered. "What else do you have to do?" you asked, glancing up at him with an arched eyebrow. "I mean, that's your prerogative, but I  _ will _ be here for a while. You might as well talk with me at least a little bit."

He straightened slightly, regarding you with a sharper focus while you were fussing with opening your notebook to a clean page. Whether you meant it as such or not, what you said smacked of subtle manipulation: he could either give in and talk to you, or remain silent and bored. 

It was once again a reminder that while he was stuck in this cell he wasn't in control, and it  _ itched _ . He'd been able to give himself the illusion of control when his only human interaction had been with the guards, but  _ you _ , you gave him pause, you upset the balance, and he wasn't certain he liked it. 

In fact, he was pretty sure that he  _ didn't _ . 

"So!" You looked back up at him, plastering a cheery smile on your face and clicking your pen. The smile, he noted, didn't reach your eyes. "What shall we talk about?" 

"You tell me." He arched an eyebrow. "Aren't interviewers supposed to have their questions prepared beforehand?" 

"Not all of them." The pause before your answer was enough to tell him that you had almost said something else. You swallowed and made a small note on the paper, turning your eyes away from him. You were too far away for him to be able to read it, unfortunately. "Like I said, I was hoping for this to be a little more relaxed, more of a conversation than an interview."

The Mad King didn't respond to that, choosing instead to study you for a moment, carefully maintaining his indifferent expression. "How  _ desperate _ you must have been, to come to me," he said finally. 

"Desperate?" You glanced up at him, eyes guarded. 

"You know I'm dangerous." It wasn't a question. It was clear that you knew very well what he was capable of- you had been jumpy and nervous since you entered the room. Between that and your earlier comment about his name, it didn't take a genius to figure out that you had done your research. "You could have picked any number of the other subjects here for your little ' _ extra credit project _ ', but you chose  _ me _ ." 

To his surprise, you snorted and shook your head, writing more down on the page. "Don't kid yourself, Mad King, you're the only one in here fucked up enough to make a good report."

A comment on his sanity and the plethora of other psychological issues they had 'diagnosed' him with. Though he still couldn't read what you wrote, it was becoming clear now that this report, this extra credit project, was likely to be for a psychology class. And if it was a psychology class that required only the  _ best _ ... 

He smirked. "You must be in Dr. Brenner's class." Your hand twitched, the pen nearly tumbling from your fingers.  _ Bingo _ . "Tell me," he continued casually, gesturing as he spoke, "have they gotten their second doctorate yet? I'm afraid I'm rather behind the times. My newspaper privileges were suspended after I  _ murdered _ my second guard in a two week span."

You had stopped writing now, setting your pen down on the page and resting your hand on it. You didn't look up, but when you spoke, the words were careful, measured. "If that was a threat, you're going to need to try harder than that. Killing me just means I don't have to pay my student loans."

_ The fuck?  _

He was glad, now, that you still weren't looking at him; your blase disregard for your own life was not something he expected and he hadn't been able to keep it from showing on his face. That comment was supposed to scare the  _ shit _ out of you, place him firmly back in control. Instead,  _ he _ was the one off balance- and you were still nervous! He had heard the subtle quaver in your voice! He could see your hands shaking! Where the  _ fuck _ did you get off in-

The Mad King took a quiet, deep breath, eyes closing for a moment, hands clenched at his sides. 

Anger would get him nowhere at this point. Better to save it for a more opportune situation. 

When he opened his eyes, you were writing again, like nothing had happened. "Does that happen a lot?" you asked mildly, glancing up while you wrote. 

He raised an eyebrow, mouth pulled tight. 

"The anger." You gestured vaguely with the hand holding the pen. "It's okay, really, everyone gets mad."

"Including you?" he asked sarcastically, tilting his head. 

You just gave him another fragile smile, shrugged, and went back to writing. What sort of answer was that? 

The rest of the interview - or  _ conversation _ , as you would insist it was - passed with little progress on either side. You were too nervous to ask him any questions of real substance, and being put on the back foot made him snappish, witheringly sarcastic, and ultimately disinclined to play with you.

("What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"I like to take long walks on the beach and drink pina coladas.")

A shame, really, he had been  _ so _ bored.

Still, you would be coming back tomorrow. Perhaps by then he could really dig in and have some fun with you that  _ didn't _ involve quoting old pop songs.

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever write more chapters of this? maybe. will it be soon? don't... don't hold your breath.
> 
> (i have my own thoughts for how this eventual relationship progresses, buuuut if you wanna make your own speculations please feel free, esp in the comments 'cause i do love me some plotting)


End file.
